Lemongrass and Sleep
by octocelot
Summary: Long after they should be asleep, they whisper about the adventures they'd have if they were pirates capturing princesses or the other way around. They grow older. Alternatively, a girl falls in love with a girl who doesn't fall in love too.


**Written as Keeper for the Arrows at QLFC (prompt: Write a story about your OTP that has an UNHAPPY ENDING).**

 **Written for Challenges by the Dozen at Caesar's Palace (prompt: Write about a minor character).**

 **Written for Life is just one huge song! at Caesar's Palace (prompt: Heartbreak and faking fine, indie).** **Used the song "She" by Dodie Clark as the song, taking the line "she smells like lemongrass and sleep."**

 **Written for the Monthly Oneshot Challenge at Caesar's Palace (prompt: "Underface" by Shel Silverstein).**

 **Written for September event at Hogwarts (prompts: princess, being given a detention).**

 **Written for Rose (a next-gen fic).**

 **WC: 1,589**

* * *

Dominique is soft. She has always been that way, ever since they were children when they would skip down the cobblestone streets in Hogsmeade, barely keeping their butterbeer in their to-go cups. Her hands have always been warm, tucked snugly into Myra's when they would go to places that frightened them. Dominique's cheeks have always been rosy during strolls in the winter, complementing the yellow of her hair against the morning sun. She smells like lemongrass and sleep.

Myra tries to remember when Dominique's hands became conducive to electricity or when her cheeks started to remind Myra of the apples in Eve's garden.

* * *

"Patil!"

"Here."

Now that she's accounted for, Myra turns towards her partner in Potions. They've been brewing experiments together pretty much ever since they were sorted into the same house and became inseparable. The Weasley had simply sat down next to Myra at the Ravenclaw table with a flounce and since wormed her way into every aspect of Myra's life. Myra let her in willingly and now lets her stay.

"Dominique," she whispers, "did you write the procedure in your notes?"

Dominique nods.

"I could kiss you right now." Myra smiles in relief. At least _one_ of them has done the work.

The professor claps her hands, and the two start to prep, Dominique gathering the materials and ingredients from the front of the class, and Myra frantically reading over the rough procedure that Dominique copied from the book.

When Dominique approaches, Myra takes a beaker from her hand without looking up.

"Whoa, there!" Dominique says. "That is expensive glass!"

"Nothing a _reparo_ can't fix." Myra shrugs.

"Oh, hush."

With one hand on Myra's shoulders, and the other gently brushing Myra's hands, the second beaker is passed over. Myra raises her eyes and meets the gaze pointedly, saying, _see, I'm watching_ , but Dominique doesn't even alter her stern stare.

* * *

They're together always.

Dominique leans on Myra's arm as they pace through the courtyard. Myra leans on Dominique's shoulder as she peers over it to investigate the essay in progress. They swing their clasped hands front and back as high as they'll go just for giggles.

They laugh over textbooks, because Dominique makes jokes that Myra can't help but find funny, even if they're stupid. Myra complains about her day, and Dominique laughs, because Myra can make her frustrations sound like scenes from a movie. They sneak smiles at each other when they think of the same inside joke.

Dominique shuffles to Myra's bed sometimes, because what girl wouldn't pounce on an endless sleepover? Myra props up her pillows and makes a fort for both of them to live in. Long after they should be asleep, they whisper about the adventures they'd have if they were pirates capturing princesses or the other way around.

When Dominique gets her first detention, Myra intentionally gets hers too.

They grow older.

* * *

Ravenclaw is about studying, intelligence, and logic, isn't it? (It isn't always.)

This thought passes through Myra's mind on occasion when the rest of the Ravenclaw girls in her year are talking about boys, and she finds herself more uncomfortable than she anticipated.

"James is cute, don't you think?" one of them whispers, almost giddy that she has finally said it.

Myra can't relate. She looks to Dominique, a question written on her face, though what question she isn't sure of. Is this normal? What's going on? What do you think?

Dominique, noticeably silent during the conversation, notices Myra after a little while. "What's up?" she mouths.

"Nothing."

Myra sighs and retreats into herself, smiling every so often to appear to be listening. Has she been reading too deeply?

Surely, she shouldn't analyze every nuance of a touch, every twitch of the eye. Dominique has always been very touchy-feely, so why is this different? Myra can't pinpoint it, but she somehow knows that it is.

Dominique gives Myra a cursory glance for approval. She doesn't find it, as Myra isn't paying any attention, but she starts to speak. When she speaks, the group listens.

"I'm somewhat intrigued by Eddie," she says.

"Is it because he plays Quidditch?" another girl asks.

"Probably," says Dominique, giggling. "I know it's bad, but it's just the way my mind and body function, you know?"

The girls nod in agreement, and Myra subconsciously nods along.

* * *

"You can get anything you want if you try," says Myra for the thousandth time.

"I'll keep it in mind as I run after all of my dreams." Dominique turns towards Myra with a grin. "You are so good to me."

Something bitter wells up behind Myra's eyes. "I try." The _I love you_ that threatens to slips out next feels almost natural.

"I love you," Dominique says. Myra doesn't forget that she said it first. "Nobody could replace you."

Myra huffs, but she's really just pretending to be upset. "You've always been the affectionate one."

"Myra, this is where you say that you love me too and that we'll be best friends forever."

"Would saying 'right back at you' suffice?"

"Fine." Dominique rolls her eyes. "I'll take it." She stands up from where she had been sitting on her bed and smoothes her robes. "I'm going to take on the world."

"Oh, yeah?"

"Eddie."

"Oh." Myra looks up from her homework to meet the eyes of her princess."Eddie?"

Dominique beams, and Myra tries to do the same, but her cheeks are tired from the pretending.

When they start to date after Dominique asks him out, Myra tries to like him. She swears that she does. She sees that Eddie is selfless and intelligent and gentle, but she mostly just sees him as "Dominique's boyfriend," and that makes him more of a problematic reminder to her than anything else.

* * *

Dominique spends more and more time in the Gryffindor Common Room with Eddie.

So Myra sometimes hits herself in the head with a textbook to remind herself that there's no reason for her to like Dominique. She has never shown any sign of liking Myra, and if there was a sign, it was probably just because Dominique is unfortunately naturally affectionate.

But what is it she likes about Dominique?

The answers are too much.

The two begin to drift apart, and Myra at first feels like this might be better. She might be able to finally get over this...unwanted crush. But withdrawal is worse.

Myra keeps some secrets, but she's never kept anything she'd wanted to tell Dominique inside. Dominique was always safe.

Instead, Myra puts on her outside face.

Instead, Dominique is a volatile name in Myra's heart. It reminds her of what she has and why she loves it, but then it snarkily reminds her of why her heart hurts and why it won't get better without having the loving go away.

Withdrawal is the worst.

* * *

Myra is sprawled on her bed one afternoon, preparing for a pre-dinner nap.

"Why don't you like Eddie?" Dominique says under her breath.

Myra tenses, her nap forgotten. "I do."

"You always glare daggers when you're around him."

"Oh?" Myra really is surprised. "I do?"

"You've never liked my boyfriends before, but I thought Eddie might be different."

Myra grunts. "He is."

"Myra, please."

The desperation in her voice is enough to make Myra look at her.

Dominique's eyes write poems. In them, Myra sees the reflection of all the things she cannot twist into sentences, into neat little lines across a page, into sweet syllables that might reach her ears. She sees secrets.

She turns away first. She doesn't want to see them. It's a painful reminder she could do without.

Dominique bridges the room between them, and Myra sits up to meet her halfway.

"You're my best friend," Dominique murmurs. "Open up. Let me take care of you."

"You're going to drop me," Myra manages to say. Her voice is huskier than she remembers, and the words come out more accusing and angry than she intends.

"No." When Dominique reaches out to cup Myra's cheek, her hand is trembling. Myra is tempted for half a second to lean into the warmth, but she recoils instead. Dominique does the same in response, hurt shining in her eyes. "I would never hurt you."

"Not on purpose."

"I wouldn't even on accident," she says. "But if I did, I would help you fix you. I would help you…"

"Dominique." Myra clutches her wrist with one hand and tries to quell her shaking, tries to throw away her thoughts. "Stop. You must know how I feel about you." She says this more out of desperation than anything. _Let me tell you how I feel without telling you._

Dominique eyes open wide. Myra recognizes those irises, blue with specks of grey, the sky meeting the sea before a storm, the eyes of a girl who couldn't know. Myra doesn't recognize the pity.

"I'm sorry," Dominique says. She twists her hands into her lap. "I...I don't like girls like that."

Myra head feels huge. It has turned into a balloon, a helium one, and it's going to take her away from here. It's going to pick her feet up from the ground and carry her towards the sky and once she leaves the atmosphere, her head is going to pop, and she will be glad.

Myra can't quite hear anymore.

So she splutters, "I know," and closes the curtains around her bed. The door clicks as Dominique leaves the room, and for some reason that's sadder than anything Dominique could have said.


End file.
